


He's My Friend

by BristlingBassoon



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Backstory, Being Walked In On, First Love, High School, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Tutoring, Unpleasant parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 00:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20349667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BristlingBassoon/pseuds/BristlingBassoon
Summary: Bash and Florian go way back.





	He's My Friend

Bash grits his teeth and steps over the threshold. God. He’s really done it now. He’s sunk to the refuge of the unwanted, the library at lunch hour. He feels as stupid as rocks in here, but if he doesn’t get some help with his studies, he’s screwed. The librarian gives him a Dewey number and he walks towards the relevant shelf.

“Oh, sorry-“ he says in surprise. There’s a boy sitting cross-legged on the floor, wiping blood off his lip.

He looks up, equally startled. Wide eyes, a cloud of dark hair, thick eyebrows like something printed in a comic book. Closes the book he was holding - something on seismology, if that’s what it’s called - there’s a big printed table of the richter scale in it, and a dark smear on the guy’s hand.

“Hey buddy, are you hurt?” He crouches down, begins dabbing at the guy’s face with his sleeve.

“Ow - jesus!” the guy replies. “What are you even doing?”

“Cleaning you up?” Bash says. “Wait - I’ll get some tissues from Mrs Kelson.”

The guy’s brow creases in alarm. “Bash?”

“Yeah…?” he replies, feeling somewhat rebuffed. He’s sure he hasn’t seen the guy before, but his parties are pretty well attended - not everyone has a pool _and _a pool table and arcade machines, so it doesn’t seem weird that this guy knows his name, even if it’s not the name the teachers use in class. Has he been in a class with this guy? Like, English or something? He’s skipped the last 3 classes so it’s possible it’s slipped his mind.

“Bash, it’s Florian. From third grade. Don’t you recognise me?”

Bash stares at the guy again, and to fill the silence, offers him an arm and pulls him upright. Jeez, he’s a little guy, barely comes up to the third shelf. Half his height is the hair. Looks at the face again, imagines it smaller, imagines him smaller - probably not that much smaller - maybe with a little short back and sides and…

Oh my god, it _is_ him. Florian. He used to play wrestle with him in front of the TV until he sprained his wrist and got a big bruise on his face before family picture day and Birdie yelled at him to stop. And then he remembers Florian moved - he drew him a card in markers and everything, a picture of him in his new room with all his cool new things, because Florian was sad to go, kept saying the new neighbourhood was going to suck, and they promised to keep in touch once Florian learned his new phone number, but they never did. The hole left by him got filled by other people. There were always new people wanting to be his friend, and if that hole was ever empty, Birdie would fill it with new, freshly selected friends. _Sebastian, this is Kyle, Mrs Holshaw’s boy. Sebastian, come and say hello to Gloria - now, you play nicely!_

None of those new friends ever seemed to be as good. He remembered Gloria laughing at his action figures - but also laughing when he asked to see her newest doll, which she wouldn’t stop talking about. Kyle kicked him in the shins too, and not in a fun way.

But now Florian’s back and - maybe they can go back to how they were. Except years older.

“Holy shit, Florian!?” Bash squeaks. “I….didn’t recognise you with those eyebrows!”

Florian giggles, and Bash sees blood on his teeth. “Oh my god, what happened to you?”

“Slammed my face in a locker,” Florian says with an affected breeziness.

“What! Who?”

“Forget about it,” says Florian firmly. “How about we just - enjoy our time here in these hallowed halls of learning.”

“What?”

“In the library.”

“Oh, right,” Bash says. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about earth sciences, would you? Or math - or, well, basically anything other than drama and sports. I’m doing OK at those.”

“Yeah, I might,” says Florian cautiously. “You still live at the same place? I could come round if you want to study together.”

“Great! This afternoon?”

Florian looks taken aback, but then seems to recall some of the easiness they once shared together. “Sure, this afternoon. As long as I can call my Mom when I get to yours, tell you where I am.” He grins. “Ha, it’s funny not having our parents arrange our playdates.”

Bash finds a box of tissues on a nearby table, hopefully left there by a helpful TA or a girl preparing to read weepy romance novels, rather than some rogue library masturbator.

“Here you go,” he says, offering Florian a fistful.

There’s still blood on his sleeve.

Florian fills him in that afternoon, over big bowls of froot loops at the kitchen island. His parents got divorced - Dad’s gone back to Germany, which is weird cause Florian’s never even left America. The new big suburban house seemed wasteful with only half a family - three people rattling around in it, just Florian’s Mom and his sister Silke - so they moved back to a smaller house which isn’t too far away from where he used to live.It’s not too bad though, they’ve got a dog, a labrador golden retriever cross, which Silke just adores. Florian’s mom called the dog Marmalade, except said weird cause she’s German. Florian’s changed his goals a bit since he was 9. Says being in finance is a bit more sensible than being a wrestler.

Bash has never had to worry about being sensible. Well, except now, with his grades down the toilet and his Dad threatening to cut his allowance if he can’t at least get a respectable pass.

He and Florian avoid the topic for a little while. They watch some TV - wrestling and scrambled porn, not that you can really see much, and not that Bash is sure that he wants to, but he finds the porn music hilarious and wants to cheer Florian up.

“I’m going to have to think about getting a job for the summer,” Florian says suddenly, rolling a discarded froot loop between his fingers. “I don’t know, maybe pizza delivery or something. Start saving for college.”

“Hey Florian,” says Bash, an idea coming to him. “How many math classes do you do?”

“Oh, a couple. Calculus and one other one. The other one.” He giggles. “Why?”

“How about you tutor me? I mean Christ knows I need a better grade than the one I’ve got, and you need a job and -“

“Come on,” says Florian. “I’m happy to help you with your homework, you don’t have to pay me for it.” He drops the froot loop on the floor, looking weirdly unhappy for someone who just learned they won’t have to drive midnight pizzas to stoned people.

“No, but I _want_ to pay you for it. I mean why not? I’ve got the money, you’ve got the skills, we can still hang out and have fun afterwards -“

Florian still doesn’t seem thrilled. Bash tries again, trying to turn on a little of the charm in a way that he wouldn’t have had to when he was 9.

“Look, give it a couple of weeks - maybe 2 nights a week? And then if you still don’t like it, then you can go sling some pizzas.”

“Alright, alright,” Florian says finally, “But I’m going to bring some weed every once in a while so we can actually enjoy each other’s company instead of me just boring you to tears, ok?” He smiles, and it’s a beautiful broad smile now that he’s washed the blood out of his teeth. “Bash, I’ve missed this.” 

“I’ve missed this too.”

He’s the world’s worst liar and this is far from a lie. In fact, when it’s 6 pm, he wishes that Florian didn’t have to go, and they could sleep over, rucked in blankets in front of the glowing light of the tv, like they used to when they were small.

The tutoring, to Bash’s surprise, goes well. Florian’s extremely patient with him, but makes sure he focusses. No fun and games until the hour’s up. Bash’s grades creep up, as do his abilities to remember what trigonometry actually is.

“Yes!” Bash leaves his math class in a flurry of uncharacteristic joy, and this time the joy isn’t just because he’s leaving the room. He rushes over to Florian’s locker, and brandishes the test. “79%! We did it! God, I could kiss you!”

Before he knows what he’s doing, he does - just swoops in and grabs Florian’s face and gives him a quick peck, then grabs him around the shoulders and hugs him.

“Bash - “ Florian says in a warning tone, his voice muffled against his friend’s side.

“We should celebrate!” says Bash excitedly, releasing Florian from his grasp. Florian immediately busies himself with getting things out of his locker, his face shielded behind the open door.

Bash turns around, to see Shaun and Dylan leaning against the lockers on the other side of the corridor, dressed head to toe in pastel shades and wearing matching sneers.

“Hey _Florian_,” one of them calls. How is it that he manages to make someone’s own name sound like an insult?

Bash walks over to the guys. “You got a problem?”

“No, but it looks like you do.”

“Since when do you hang around with Florian?” Dylan says, sounding almost offended. It’s been a while since he went to Dylan’s house, probably a couple of months since he stole from his parents’ liquor cabinet and invited everyone over, including him. 

“Since I realised I can’t keep failing school or else I’ll have to go and work directly for my Dad at his car dealership?” retorts Bash, knowing that Dylan’s aspirations are set relatively low. He immediately feels bad - it’s not like there’s anything wrong with selling mercs or whatever the hell it is that Dylan’s father sells, he’s never been much of a car guy. “Come on, it’s fine. Florian’s my friend, and it’s good to have friends. Maybe you should try it once in a while.”

“Yeah, but you have to pick the right ones. This guy’s a fag, and he’s like, 3 feet tall.”

“You _do_ have to pick the right ones,” Bash continues forcefully, “and I’d rather hang out with people who aren’t boring dickheads. Come on, Florian, let’s _go -“_

But when he turns around, Florian’s already gone.

“Come on, Florian - please,” pants Bash, hurrying across the parking lot, trying to catch up with his friend. Florian isn’t stopping. Bash tries to put on a burst of speed, but trips over. “Ow, fuck!”

He’s picking himself off the ground, removing bits of grit from his palm, when Florian turns around. He thought eyes blazing was an exaggeration, but somehow, Florian’s eyes _are_ blazing.

“Look, I’m sorry about the guys back there - I never should have been stupid enough to be friends with them, but you know what it’s like, parents are friends with their parents - come on!”

“Why’d you have to make it worse?” Florian spits at him. Oh christ, he looks fucking furious.

“What do you mean?”

“Now they’ll _never_ leave me alone! And now they’re not going to leave you alone either. Don’t be an idiot - this is the one thing that Daddy’s money can’t fix -“

“What?”

Florian comes closer, and finishes in an angry hiss. “Say goodbye to the dazzling reign of Bash Howard, prince of high school. If they think you’re a faggot, you’re _finished._”

He picks up his bag, laden with books, and stomps off, before Bash can properly think about what he’s done.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, lying on his stomach on his bed, cord stretched as far as it will go from the wall-mounted phone he got installed in fire engine red for his 10th birthday. There’s still a faded bit of paper stuck to the wall underneath it, reading _Bash Howard’s Hotline. _He tugs it free from the wall, the yellowed tape coming away as easy as a knife through butter. Put away childish things and all that. “I wasn’t thinking.”

There’s a crackle on the other end. At first he thinks it’s a bad line, but he realises it’s Florian’s breath.

“You kissed me,” Florian says finally.

“Yeah.” Bash replies uncertainly.

“That was fucking stupid of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Look - I don’t know what you want exactly, but if you’re going to pull anything like that, at least do it in private so not everyone in the world gets to see it, least of all the guy who thinks it’s funny to slam my head in my own locker.”

“I’m sorry,” Bash says again.

A heavy sigh from the other end.

“Can I still see you? I mean, you did help me pass math. More than pass,” he adds. “And I had no idea that would even be possible.”

“Bash, we’re not kids anymore.” Florian says.

“Yeah, I know.”

Florian sighs heavily. “Alright. You can come over to mine.”

“What - now?”

“No, I’m busy right now. Tomorrow. Maybe - maybe don’t hang out with me at school, just, just come to my house after. And don’t give me any money this time. I just want to - just hang out, you know. Like we used to.”

“You said we weren’t kids anymore.”

“Bye, Bash.” There’s a click as he hangs up the phone, and Bash is left there, wondering what all of this means. He goes to put the TV on.

Florian’s house is a small, squat ranch made of taupe brick with heavy, dark window frames, like the house is a guy wearing Roy Orbison glasses. He can see the living room carpet through the windows, it’s a tweedy burnt orange.

He’s brought a porn magazine, rolled up and stuck in his jacket. Bash isn’t that interested in looking at porn, but he thinks it might cheer Florian up.

Two knocks. Silke answers the door.

“Hi, Sebastian,” she says. She’s at least a head taller than Florian, and her hair’s a lighter brown, but she’s got the same thick, heavy brows and broad smile. She’s wearing denim shorts and some kind of embroidered cheesecloth blouse, and there’s a very excited dog trying to get through her legs to greet this strange new visitor.

“Hi, Silke. Who’s, ah, this?” he says, gesturing at the dog.

“Oh, this is Marmalade. Meet Sebastian, Marmalade. Shake?” The dog composes itself for a moment and offers a paw. Bash bends down and gives the paw a little shake. Marmalade barks and then dashes off into the lounge room, leaping down into the world’s smallest avocado-upholstered conversation pit. There’s barely room for the dog in there.

“Florian’s in his room,” Silke says, without telling him exactly which room it is. She gestures expansively at the corridor.

After opening a couple of doors, Bash comes to the right room. Florian’s lying on his bed, reading The Outsiders. He looks up and hurriedly drops the novel.

“Yeah, I know it’s a bit middle school, but it’s fun to reread every now and again.”

Bash doesn’t tell him that he’s never read it. “I haven’t forced you into exile, have I?”

“No more than usual,” says Florian, motioning for Bash to sit down. “I’m not exactly popular with a lot of people.”

Does Florian _have_ any other friends? He sits with Molly, Tracey and Keith at lunch, but whether he sees them outside of that, Bash doesn’t actually know. He supposes maybe Florian doesn’t want to talk about other friends with him, doesn’t want him to get jealous, but in Bash’s world it’s normal to at least look like you have a lot of friends and he’s never thought he might be someone’s _only_ friend.

“You want something to drink? I could get you a coke.”

“No thanks, I’m fine,” says Bash, but he gets up and closes the door. Florian looks at him quizzically. There’s a sudden burst of music from two rooms down. He supposes Silke must have put on a record. The dog barks delightedly, as if it’s a song just for him. “Hey Florian,” Bash says, unzipping his jacket, “I got you a magazine.” He plonks it down on the bed, where it sits, in smug, gloss-finish glory.

Florian’s eyes widen. “What, do you want to look at it together?”

“Sure, why not.”

They settle back on the bed, their backs against the bedroom wall, and open the magazine. It’s nothing special - mostly swimsuits and boobs, but after seeing several torn out pages passed around in the locker room, having heard the comments, Bash is pretty sure that this is something he’s supposed to do with a friend.

He looks quickly at Florian, to see what he makes of it. Weird. His friend looks kind of stressed, and sweaty.

“Are you Ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just kind of,” Florian laughs nervously, “I’m kind of turned on to be honest.”

“That’s cool,” says Bash, with a studied nonchalance he doesn’t feel. He looks back at the magazine, trying to see what Florian’s seeing. Oh! On this page her panties are see-through. He guesses that’s it. “Hey, if you want to, you know, I’m cool with it.”

“What?”

“If it makes you feel better I’ll do it too, then it won’t be weird.”

“Bash, it’s weird.”

“No, it’s not! Look, don’t you jerk off ever?”

“Alright, fine,” Florian says, and Bash hears him unbutton his pants. Hears him slip a hand in his briefs, hears him start touching himself. He keeps looking at the magazine, and then…

Fuck, is he getting hard too?

He awkwardly shifts his arm, and pushes his hand into his own pants. He can hear Florian’s breathing quicken, and then it’s his breath too, and he’s grabbing harder, stroking harder, sweat beading on his forehead as his friend finishes beside him, grunting and panting, and then, then, Florian’s hand is on his, and then Florian’s hand is further, it’s on his cock, and his friend is fondling him and - god! He’s never come in his pants before. His wet briefs are clinging to him. And Florian’s hand is still on his cock.

He feels frightened now. Turns to Florian, to finally, properly look at him.

“Your sister didn’t hear that, did she?”

Loud music blaring from the lounge room.

“I don’t think so,” says Florian drily.

“Florian,” Bash says, “My parents would kill me. You can’t tell anyone about this. Ever.”

“I know.” And this time, it’s Florian kissing him.

They do it again. And again. And then one afternoon it escalates, and before Bash has time to think about it, he’s sitting on the bed and Florian is kneeling on the floor and is sucking him off, and it’s something he didn’t even know that he wanted but now it’s happening and he wants it _so_ much. Then two things happen.

Bash realises he forgot to close the door all the way. The dog barrels into the room, followed by -

“Silke, what the fuck!” Florian yells, struggling to cover Bash up while trying to hold the dog away from his face at the same time.

“Jesus!” his sister yells, immediately exiting the room as if she’s on a swivel. The dog excitedly dashes after her.

Florian bolts for the door and slams it, while Bash fumbles with his pants.

“That was…not good,” says Florian.

Now that the moment’s had a chance to sink in, it doesn’t seem particularly good to Bash either. His heart’s pounding and there’s a sick feeling growing in his chest.

“I, uh, guess I should leave,” Bash says, double checking he’s done up his fly.

“I can’t come out with you,” Florian stammers. “Don’t really want to have to look at my twin sister after that -“

“Yeah, no, of course,” says Bash, although he really, _really_ doesn’t want to leave the room. But he does, and much to his horror, Silke’s sitting out on the front steps when he opens the door.

Silke stands up. In another situation, he might see that she’s a beautiful girl, and maybe someone he should have been fooling around with instead. But when he looks at her, all he can think about is the jolt of fear when the door opened, and then before it..

The fact that he enjoyed it. And he wouldn’t have wanted it to be with Silke, because when he looks at her he doesn’t feel any kind of thrill, doesn’t wish he was touching her, could happily sit next to her watching a movie and never once even reach for her hand. Oh hell. He’ll never look at a woman the way he looks at Florian, and he is _fucked._

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” are the first words he manages to stammer at Silke.

She raises one of those impressive brows. “Look, I don’t care what you do with my brother. Of course I’m not going to tell anyone, it’s not exactly something I wanted to see either.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. To be honest I’m just glad that it was _your_ dick I saw rather than my brother’s.”

Bash can’t really see the humour just yet.

“Did you ever do any studying, or was it only ever just “studying”?”

“Got my GPA up quite a bit,” says Bash, weakly.

“Thank god,” Silke says, “because if you didn’t actually do any studying, that means you were basically just _paying_ my brother to feel you up. And that’d be just sad.”

“Thanks for the input,” says Bash, and makes his exit while he feels he still has a shred of dignity.

“I’m sorry,” he says on the phone again. “I hope it’s not awkward with Silke.”

“I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for a while.”

The year grinds on, and before he knows it, it’s over, and he’s off to Harvard Business School, to a degree basically organised by his mother, where he’ll rub shoulders with people he doesn’t know but is supposed to memorise like formulae. He doesn’t know where Florian ends up, as Florian doesn’t tell him.

Midway through his first year, his father dies of a massive heart attack while paying squash. Bash flies home, and while he’s putting flowers on the grave, the bouquet shored up with baby’s breath (his father never lived to see a grandchild, been years since he’s been near any babies, seems ironic) he wonders if he’s ever had a conversation with his father worth anything.

That time his father told him to go out and get a girlfriend because if he went alone to prom, he’d look like a faggot and no Howard man is a faggot or they don’t get to be a Howard any longer - that probably didn’t count.

Nor did that time when Gloria finally let him touch her doll - Christie, he thinks it was, the doll that could grow her hair out with the press of a button - and his father came in and slapped the doll out of his hands to Gloria’s vehement protest. He didn’t even say anything that time.

He does remember the wrestling, though. Going to see a taping of the Saturday night match once, him and his father sitting in sweaty plastic chairs and screaming with excitement as the face threw the heel into the crowd. And he felt the glow of something like fatherly love beside him.

It’ll have to do. He hasn’t got anything else.

Bash manages another semester of studying and shoulder rubbing before he feels he’ll wear out the sleeves of his blazer with all that shoulder contact, and drops out. Sits around the house practicing pool trick shots, or wondering if he’ll be a fashion designer - he’s got lots of ideas of pink and teal together and it seems like the right time, but he can’t draw for shit. He fobs off Birdie’s offers to help her with charity events, avoids his friends, or the people he thought were his friends.

One day he’s in town and sees Silke buying a box of doughnuts and before he knows what he’s doing, he waves. He’s relieved when she gives him a half-flip of her hand and then doesn’t come over.

After a while he feels some of his old drive return, and upon waking up from a thrilling dream, becomes excited. For once, he’s dreamed about women. Not sexy, nubile women pouting at him from magazine pages and music videos, or wholesome girl-next-door types or thin artistic girls at gallery openings or even the ladies at his mother’s charity lunches. These ladies are huge and bulky, squeezed into gold spandex, all tits and hair and glitter eyeshadow, and they’re wrestling. A stupid thing cooked up by his subconscious mind, but he takes it as a sign.

A house opens up on the market, and on a whim, he buys it. Gets a bed delivered, and a pizza, and nothing else. He’s never felt anything so freeing, to be in a house with nothing and no one in it. He can see all the floors and walls and ceilings and they’re so bright with promise, it’s like he’s opening up a big blank book, waiting to be drawn on.

There’s a knock at the door at 10.30 pm. Bash gets up from watching the new TV he just had delivered, and scuffs over in his socks, only to open the door and find him there, looking sodden and scared and close to tears.

Bash pulls him indoors and out of the rain. He passes him a new towel, still with its tag on. He wants to kiss him, but doesn’t.

“They kicked me out!” Florian says suddenly, and collapses into sobs. Bash takes over drying his hair, trying his best to make soothing noises but not knowing how.

“Here, sit down.” Bash guides him to the sofa, thankful that it arrived in time for Florian to sit there, or maybe sleep there. Just in case. “What happened?”

“My mom - she, uh, walked in on me -“

Bash feels his cheeks burn.

“ - with Gary, one of Silke’s friends.”

With Gary. So it’s with a guy.

He didn’t grow out of it.

“- She freaked and told me to get out.”

“It’ll be fine, I promise,” Bash murmurs.

“No, you can’t fix this!” Florian says, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He’s taken his shirt off, and draped the towel around his shoulders. Bash is mesmerised by the subtle movement of the muscles of his back. He wants to touch him.

He doesn’t touch him.

“You keep trying to fix things, and that’s not what I want. I just - I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Bash perches awkwardly on the edge of the seat cushion, and tries his best to think.

“No, Florian, you’re wrong.”

“How am I wrong!?” He looks genuinely angry now. It’s not easy looking at someone who’s got tear tracks down their face and also wants to yell at you. Bash wishes he could leave the room, and return when Florian’s looking happy again.

“Ok, you need a job, right?”

A nod.

“And a place to live.”

“Just to crash, I don’t want to - I don’t know, Bash, I get the feeling you aren’t really prepared to -“

“Florian, you’re my friend. And I want to help out my friends.” He frowns, looking at the TV cables snaking across the bare floor. He needs to find a place for Florian to fill, where he won’t be questioned. Where maybe, people can leave them alone for once.

“How about you become, uh…my butler?”

Florian snorts with laughter. “Your butler? Bash, that’s fucking stupid.”

“How is it fucking stupid! Our family’s always had a butler!”

“Yeah, but he’s like a real butler, like, polishing silver and organising wine lists. I went to college, not to _butler school_.”

“Relax, it’s not like I want you to be a real butler. I just want some company, you know? And maybe if you can help me organise some of the household stuff, help me pay my bills on time, that kind of thing. You know I’ve always been hopeless.”

“You went to business school.”

“I dropped out of business school.”

“Oh Bash, why?” His brows crease in annoyance and worry. “What are you even going to do?”

“It’s not like it matters,” says Bash, with a flippancy he doesn’t quite feel. “But I’ve got a pretty great idea, and if you’re willing to go along with it, maybe you can help organise it. I’ll provide the cash and you, you provide the logistics.”

“What’s the idea?” Florian mumbles, wrapping the towel tightly around him. “Jeez it’s cold in here, when are you going to get some curtains and rugs? Heat’s going straight out of those windows.”

“That’s what you’re for,” says Bash. “I didn’t even think about curtains.”

“What, you were going to stand in front of the window getting dressed every morning, waving your dick at LA?”

“It’s not like anyone can see it past all the palm trees I’ve got right in front of my window. We’ll need landscaping too. Maybe get a pool.”

“Bash -“

“Yes? Just - just come for a month, Ok? And if you still think it’s stupid, I’ll give you a great reference for whatever other job you want. God, I don’t even know what you ended up studying. Was it finance? I’m sure I could do finance.”

“Bash,” says Florian again.

“Yes?”

“I’ve missed you.”

He lets Florian fold him into his arms.

“I missed you too.”

Years later, he’ll miss him more than anything.

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a bit of a rough, rambling fic, but I had so many thoughts about how Bash and Florian ended up together, and Bash keeps ignoring the true nature of their relationship. So it's out there now. Hope you like it.


End file.
